


Fireflies

by officemonkey



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Family Issues, Fluff and Angst, Foster Care, Gen, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, John Winchester Tries, Missing Persons, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Tags Are Hard, Then It Gets Worse Again, Undead Nazi Doctor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-08-27 19:24:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8413687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/officemonkey/pseuds/officemonkey
Summary: In which the fates of two families, one by blood and one by circumstance, become entwined. John and the boys take some time off the road and investigate a hospital with a horrifying secret and kids with some very interesting talents. Not all wounds leave scars and not everything heals.





	1. April 1993

**Author's Note:**

> If this looks familiar it's because I had an earlier version of this up and just wasn't happy with it at all. I loved my characters more than that and they deserved a better story. So here it is.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I, uhm - I don’t get it. What the hell am I looking at?”  
> “You’re lookin’ at a half-dozen missing kids, that’s what.” Bobby huffs in frustration.  
> 

The manila package is thin - it can’t be more than a few pages. John thanks the courier at his door and turns it over in his hands. There’s one word printed on the return address label - SINGER. He knows he shouldn’t ignore it, but it can wait until after dinner. The boys are hungry and there’s a pizza place across the street that he’s wanted to try. One night, just one stupid night to spend with his kids and rest, that’s all he wants. It feels like they’re only in Greensburg a few minutes before work catches up with them. He considers just not calling Bobby the next time they get on the road. 

_ Nah. He’d find me, anyway. It would just piss him off, really.  _

He sits across the table and listens while the boys go off on everything they saw that afternoon. He’d sent them down the street to the little grocery store for coffee and milk, and fully expected the walk would take about three times as long as it should have. They never cease to amaze him - the sun has barely set on this town and Sam has a library card, Dean’s picked a fight with one of the locals and has the shiner to prove it, and both have gleefully descended upon the first comic book shop they’ve seen in months. They came back with the coffee and milk, sure. Change from the twenty he’d given them, however, had mysteriously manifested as two new Sandman comics. 

“Dad?” Dean waves his hand in front of John’s face, “hey, did you hear me?” 

“Uhm, sorry, bud,” he shakes his head and runs a hand over his face. He's taken a total of two bites out of the slice of pepperoni in front of him. “What was it?” 

“Next job?” Dean picks up a third slice and dives in, watching his dad for an answer. 

“Nothing right now. We’re just gonna settle in and relax for a little bit,” John picks off a piece of the meat and pops it in his mouth. The pizza’s good, he’s just not that hungry. 

“Then what did Uncle Bobby send?” Dean barely pauses between bites. Kid’s quick, he’ll be the first to admit. Not a whole lot gets by Dean these days. 

“Nothing, haven’t even opened it yet.” 

“What if it’s -” he darts his eyes at Sam, who’s watching them like a tennis match over the top of his Pepsi, “ _ you-know-what? _ ” 

“I know what you’re talking about. I’m nine, not stupid.” Sam kicks him under the table for good measure. John can’t help himself and grins at them, despite knowing exactly what Dean is talking about and seriously not wanting to ruin what’s left of a good meal with horrifying memories. 

“If it was important, he’d call,” he goes back to picking at his pizza. “So, Sammy, anything good at the library?” 

“It’s nice. They have big couches and all seven  _ Incarnations of Immortality _ books. I only got halfway through the third book back in Huntington. Before - ” Sam looks down at his hands for a minute, leaving the last part of that  unspoken.  _ Before you dragged us off on another lead and we left behind another empty house and another life we could have had.  _ He knows it’s hard on them, and in the last few years it’s become compulsion, bordering on obsession. If he even gets a sniff of something close to what happened to Mary, he’s off again. It’s like a scab that itches until he rips it off, letting the blood flow again. 

“Hey,” John reaches across the table and tilts Sam’s chin up, “let’s stick around awhile. How’s that?”  

Sam pulls away, looks John square in the eye. He’s not surprised by the anger burning in the kid’s eyes. “I’ll believe it when I see it.” 

It’s a mild night and the walk back to the motel is slow and easy. John passes the time extracting the real reason for Dean’s black eye out of his sons. 

“I walked into a door,” Dean spits out at first, and he’s shooting some deadly looks Sam’s way already. Sam rolls his eyes. 

“Try again.” 

“Tripped over a cat?” he ventures. John laughs and shakes his head. 

“Creative, but I’m not buyin’.” 

“Some kid outside the grocery store called me a girl,” Sam sighs, annoyed. John cocks an eyebrow at them. Dean grins for a second. 

“You should see what the other kid looks like.” 

 

\-----------

 

Sam is a tiny burrito in the center of one double bed. He has managed to wrap the comforter entirely around himself and the only sign that there’s even a kid in there is a pink nose and four fingers clutching the edge of the blanket. Dean is face down in a pillow next to his brother, one leg dangling off the side. Still, he’s got the other arm and leg slung around the burrito, taking up every available inch of the crowded bed. John flips on the lamp over the little table on the other side of the room and slides a finger under the envelope flap. He pulls ten or so sheets of paper out and holds them under the lamp.  

The first page is an admissions roster for a hospital up in Cincinnati, some pediatric place. He doesn’t know it. There’s a handful of names marked in yellow highlighter. Behind that, there’s records on all those names. He can’t see what’s tying them together at first until he lays them out side by side on the table. All of them are under 10, all admitted by the same doctor from Family Services. They’re all foster kids and, according to what he’s looking at, they’ve disappeared. He picks up the phone and dials the number without thinking. 

“Whaddya want?” 

“I got your package,” John says quietly, not wanting to wake either the burrito or the octopus. 

“And?” 

“I, uhm - I don’t get it. What the hell am I looking at?” John shuffles the papers again and he’s still not seeing much of a case. 

“You’re lookin’ at a half-dozen missing kids, that’s what.” Bobby huffs in frustration. 

“OK, so a couple of foster kids ran away from a hospital. Color me surprised,” he flips to the last few pages, still trying to make sense. “It’s not enough to -”

He’s holding the last sheet in the packet - a newspaper column, cut out and taped to what looks like a photocopy from a history textbook. The article welcomes a Dr. Hessmeyer to the Sunny Acres Children’s Hospital team. There’s the obligatory blurry staff photo, with the new doctor’s face circled. The textbook page is a summary of the brief career of an Aribert Heim and his series of concentration camp experiments, right alongside a picture of the good doctor.  

“Shit,” he drops into the chair, tosses this paper on top all the others, “it’s a job.”  

“ _ Now,  _ do you get it? There’s more I can - ” 

“Look, I can’t do this right now. We’ve been on the road for six months, Bobby,” he rests his elbows on his knees and rakes a hand through his hair. “The boys are tired - hell,  _ I’m  _ -”

Bobby cuts him off, “Don’t you think I know that already, dumbass? Let me finish a goddamn thought.” 

“Fine, what is it?”

“What I was  _ gonna  _ say is there’s more to those files I can send you, but other than that, there’s shit to go on. What I  _ need  _ is someone that can sit their ass in town a little while and keep an eye on things for me. Maybe dig up something we can use. Think you can handle that?” 

“Yeah, sure.” Relief settles over him in a cool wave. 

“OK, then. Let me get a couple of things straightened out on my end and I’ll call you in the morning. Night, idjit.” 

“Night, asshole,” John sets the phone back on its cradle and watches the burrito and the octopus unconsciously shove each other for a few more minutes. Dean is minutes away from sliding completely onto the floor, so he scoops him up and deposits the boy on the other bed. He kicks his shoes under the table and dozes off on the couch. It’s narrow and lumpy as hell, but it’s the best sleep he’s had in months. 


	2. April 1992

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Well, actually, I took another job. I start next week.”  
> He raises an eyebrow, lowering the chart. “Is that so?”  
> “Yeah,” she’s fiddling with the edge of her top now. She feels a little like a bug under a microscope, like he can see the real reason she took this job - the pay is twice anything she’s ever had.  
> “Should you reconsider, my offer still stands. I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

Elise is waiting on the car when Kate finally pushes her way out of the big glass doors at five-fifteen. Her ponytail is crooked and she’s got on the brown backup scrubs; someone probably threw up on her today. Elise’s heart twists for her a little. Her own hair, set in careful twists close to her head, is starting to come loose and frizz. There's a long shower in their future. She slides off the hood, trying hard not to run across the parking lot to meet her. There are other staff members outside today, and she never knows if any of the creepy doctors from the third floor are watching out a window. Both of them could catch a lot of shit if someone catches on that they're together. She picks up the pace and jogs the last few feet, anyway. 

“Hi, sweetie,” Kate catches Elise in a hug with her free arm. She smells like Bactine and coconut shampoo. Elise pulls back after a long moment. She hooks a finger into Kate’s tote bag and snags her car keys. 

“You look tired,” she takes Kate’s bag and slings it over her shoulder, alongside her own. “I’ll make dinner tonight, too. Is Brian gonna be home?” 

Kate laughs, but it’s a dry one. “Don’t bother, unless you really want to cook for Brian. Turner wants me back in by nine for the night shift. Lori called out again.” 

“Oh,  _ come on.  _ She just wants to go see her stupid boyfriend. She calls out  _ every  _ Friday night.” Elise complains. “I just want one Friday where one of isn’t running back here to cover her dumb ass shift.” 

Kate sighs and rubs her hands together. The air is a little chilly, even for April. “Hey, it’s extra money. We could save up, like take a vacation or something.” 

They stop and stare at each other. Elise breaks first, but soon Kate is giggling, too. “Nah.” 

Elise tosses both bags in the backseat and gets the engine going so Kate can put on the heat. Before she can shift into reverse, Kate catches Elise’s hand in her own and kisses her fingers. Kate's lips are pale coral next to her caramel skin. Elise swipes her free thumb over Kate’s cheek. “I missed you.”

The trip is not long, they’re only about ten minutes from the nursing home. Brian is, indeed, home and two things greet them as Kate pushes the door to their tiny apartment open - Bad Religion blasting out of the stereo and the unmistakable smell of curry. She grins at Elise. “Guess dinner is covered, huh?” 

The girls descend upon Brian in the kitchen and Kate steals a taste of sauce from the pan on the stove. Chicken breasts sit like meaty little islands in a sea of saffron-colored sauce. Brian gives Kate a hug and Elise a peck on the cheek before turning back to slicing bell peppers. “How was work, honeys?”  

Kate groans, “I’m on the overnight again tonight. I don’t want to eat and run, but I gotta be back by nine.” 

Brian shrugs and slides the pepper slices into the pan. “Stupid Lori and her stupid boyfriend?” 

“Yeah,” Elise answers for Kate, who’s poking at the chicken, willing it to cook faster. She pops up on the counter next to the fridge, tapping her heels against the cupboard door. “Just you and me tonight, I guess.” 

“So,” Kate leans back against the counter, “am I the only one who’s noticed or is anyone gonna say anything about that hair, dear brother?” 

“Whatever could you mean, sweet sister?” Brian grins and adds peas to the pan. He’s currently sporting short, spiky and very green hair. He’s also been living in the same camo pants and sweatshirt for the last three days. Elise giggles. They really do love each other, but they also really love giving each other shit. 

“So, no one said  _ anything _ when you showed up to work looking like an artichoke?” Kate puts out three glasses and snags the milk from the fridge. It’s almost dinnertime. 

“Nope. As long as I show up, do my work, and don’t smell weird, they don’t care. I told you, they only love me for my giant, pulsating brain.” Elise picks at her own pink scrubs and notices the little spots of blood on her leg for the first time today. She briefly wishes she’d gone into another line of work.

 

\-----------

 

She’s been sitting on the edge of the hard visitor’s seat for an hour now. She’s holding Mr. Green’s hand and rubbing little circles in his palm. There’s a noise deep in his chest, like paper crumpling, and he closes his eyes again. It’s getting harder to breathe, and his face twists with the effort. She reaches up and smooths her fingers across his forehead. It seems to help. His next breath comes somewhat easier. 

“Oh, sweetie, are you sure there aren’t better ways to spend your time than with an old man on his way out?” 

“None that I can think of,” she says gently. He barks out a laugh at this and his chest rattles again. He sinks into his pillow, exhausted. No matter what she does, he’s still in pain. She stands up, stretches a bit and opens his chart, flips right past the DNR to last night’s treatment notes. He hasn’t eaten in a few days, but Dr. Yama increased his morphine dosage twice. “Are you sure there’s nothing I can get you?”

“Your company is enough, sweetheart. Do you remember that song from the other night?” 

“I do, Mr. Green,” she puts his chart back. He catches her off guard by clutching at her hands as she moves past him, bringing them up to his cheek. He looks up at her, eyes wide. He’s scared but he’ll never admit it. 

“Call me George.” She settles back down and scoots the chair closer. She takes his wizened little face in her hands. If she stares long enough, she can see the young man he used to be, the little boy that’s still in there after eighty seven years. And that little boy had a favorite song. She starts to sing, keeping her voice low, smoothing out papery little folds in his forehead. His mouth relaxes into a smile. It won’t be long now. 

“ _ You left me alone, but still you’re my own, _ ” the unmistakably warm sound of Dr. Yama’s voice joins in with hers. She looks up as he rounds the corner into Mr. Green’s room. His tie has little jalapenos in Santa hats on it. It’s not the  _ most _ inappropriate tie he’s worn to work. Betty down the hall gave him a naked lady tie for Christmas. He wore it exactly once before Dr. Turner saw him. 

“ _ In my beautiful memories,” _ Elise finishes. Mr. Green has drifted off again. She stands up, straightens her scrub top absently. 

“You’re in the wrong profession, young lady,” he leans against the door frame and grins. His accent makes everything he says sound like a song. Almost like he’s teasing her sometimes.  _ I know something you don’t know.  _ She laughs a little and tucks the blanket neatly around Mr. Green. 

“He’s getting worse,” she says quietly. Dr. Yama strolls into the room and snaps up the chart. He’s just like that. She’s never seen him ruffled by a dying patient. She doesn’t know that much about him - nobody does, really. He’s from India, has a private practice on the second floor, and never, ever seems to get flustered. 

“I can sit with him for awhile. Doesn’t your shift end at five?” He flips casually through the pages. Elise looks up at the clock. Ten till six. “Have you thought about my offer, Elise?” 

She gazes down at the floor. He’s been asking her for weeks to work for him directly. Other than the occasional house call, she’d still be working with the same patients. It would be an easy move. He had offered her a little more than what she makes now. “Well, actually, I took another job. I start next week.” 

He raises an eyebrow, lowering the chart. “Is that so?” 

“Yeah,” she’s fiddling with the edge of her top now. She feels a little like a bug under a microscope, like he can see the real reason she took this job - the pay is twice anything she’s ever had. “It’s the hospital across town - the pediatric hospital. I’ve always wanted to work with kids. Dr. Sheffield -” 

“You shouldn’t work for Dr. Sheffield,” He cuts her off so quickly her voice catches in her throat and she sputters. By the time she recovers enough to respond, Yama has picked up the chart again and is scribbling notes on the top page. He barely looks up at her. “Should you reconsider, my offer still stands. I’ll be here when you’re ready.” 

He passes the chart to her so she can sign off and takes up watch in the visitor’s chair. One last time, he looks up. “Please reconsider.” 

She shakes her head slowly and signs. She glances up at Yama’s notes and the last line catches her eye. She doesn’t respond to the doctor, just returns the chart to its place and leaves the room swiftly. She tries not to let it bother her, but it itches in her mind all the way to the front door. 

_ Time of death: 18:15. That’s in twenty minutes.  _

 


	3. May 1993

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He drops the pillow and catches scent of burning bacon. Christ, Dad’s trying to cook.
> 
> He groans and heaves himself upright. They’re lucky he decided to put on pants today.

Dean sighs and flops onto the couch. He’s not thrilled to be up this early on a Saturday, less so that he was awakened by his brother jumping on his bed and squealing. It’s Sam’s birthday and they’re going roller skating. He mashes a pillow over his face to block out the sound of the newly-minted ten year old bouncing between the living room and kitchen. It doesn’t work. He drops the pillow and catches scent of burning bacon.  _ Christ, Dad’s trying to cook.  _

He groans and heaves himself upright. They’re lucky he decided to put on pants today. 

Sam is at the table, sitting in a chair on his knees, working on draining a very large glass of chocolate milk. Dad’s staring at the bacon like it’s talking to him. Dean shoves him back and pushes the pan to a cool burner, hazarding a peek inside. He has absolutely no idea why half the bacon is practically raw and the other half is blackened. He doesn’t say anything, just shakes his head and grabs a cookie sheet from the cabinet alongside the stove. There’s half a package still left on the counter, so he lays it out on the sheet and slides it in the oven. He sets the temp and the timer and turns around. 

“Eggs?” 

Dad hasn’t moved. He’s got a pink flush creeping across his cheeks but the look on his face isn’t the angry one. He sighs, points at the fridge. “Middle shelf.” 

“Can I have waffles, too?” Sam wipes his face on the sleeve of his pajamas. 

“Sure, buddy,” Dean plugs in the toaster. “Waffles are in the freezer, Dad. Yellow box.” 

He moves quickly, and soon there’s a large bowl of fluffy scrambled eggs on the table and he’s pulling reasonably crispy bacon from the oven. Sam drags a stool up next to the counter and is watching the toaster, going through the whole box two at a time. Dad does what he does best and makes coffee. Can’t screw up coffee that bad. He’s hiding behind a newspaper when Dean sits down and fills up a plate. 

“When did you -” he starts, very purposely not looking up from his paper. 

“Since I could reach the counter,” Dean finishes. He pops back up for a second to fill a cup with coffee and half the contents of the sugar bowl. Dad gives him The Eyebrow. “What, this is news to you, too?” 

There is the blessed silence of three people completely focused on food and he’s grateful for it. Dad’s been weird since they moved into this place. Like trying to make breakfast. He can’t say he’s entirely unhappy at the arrangement, it’s just  -  _ unnecessary. _

“So, rollerskating, huh?” he nudges his brother’s chair with his toe. Sam looks up from his massive stack of waffles, half-soaked in syrup. He grins around a big bite. 

Dad insists on doing the dishes, so Dean drags the birthday boy upstairs to get dressed. They have a short discussion about the concept of “clean” and the propriety of wearing pajamas out. Sam grudgingly grabs a pair of clean jeans, and Dean pretends he doesn’t see him pull his favorite t-shirt out of the dirty wash. He pushes some crap aside in their closet and finds the thin, wrapped package he’s been hiding for the last few days. He takes a long time changing (like it takes that long to unearth a clean t-shirt and flannel) until Sam goes crashing back down the stairs, and drops it on his brother’s pillow.  

On skates, Sam reminds Dean of the time he and the kid next door put masking tape on the cat’s paws and let her loose on the kitchen floor. He’d pick at the kid more, but he’s been on his ass about as often as he’s been upright, too. Thankfully, it’s ten o’clock on a Saturday morning and the only people there to see him fail abundantly are his own blood and a bunch of kindergarteners. 

Of the three of them, Dad seems to be the only one who knows what he’s doing. Currently, he’s skating backwards in front of Dean who is finally starting to get the hang of it. He’s picking up speed and they pass Sam, who’s just let go of the wall. 

“When did you pick this up?” Dean’s still a little shocked. John shrugs and smiles. 

“When I was dating your mom, we had three choices - roller skating, the drive-in, or parking.” 

“What’s par-” John waggles his eyebrows before he can even finish the question, “oh gross, Dad, don’t even -”

“You two didn’t just magically show up one day,” he laughs and turns around, taking off ahead of his son. Dean passes his little brother again and starts to slow down and let him catch up. Sam’s making a valiant effort, balancing a little better. He’s just coming up to the side when there’s a thud and a scream behind him. 

The great thing about small town hospitals is that a ten year old with a busted lip and a broken arm is about the most exciting thing they get to see on a Saturday morning. It takes the ER nurse all of thirty seconds to clear a space and page a doctor. John is standing by the wall, eyes flicking up and down the area. Occasionally, he glances back at the boys. Dean sits with Sam on the gurney and lets him lay his head on his knee. Sam’s arm is wrapped in his brother’s flannel shirt and he shifts it gingerly every few minutes, trying to find a position that doesn’t hurt. The split lip isn’t so bad anymore but there’s still a puddle of bloody snot on Dean’s leg. He doesn’t care - he just picks at Sammy’s hair and tries to think of another joke.  

“OK, how about this one? Why is a ham sandwich better than eternal happiness?” Sam twists his neck around to look up at him, lips pursed. 

“This isn’t a funny one, is it?” 

“Hey, just stick with it for a minute. Why is a ham sandwich better than eternal happiness?” 

“OK, fine,” he shifts his arm again and whimpers, “why?” 

“Because nothing is better than eternal happiness, and a ham sandwich is better than nothing.” 

“See? Told you. Not funny.” John laughs, though. At least someone gets it. 

 

\----------

 

Dean stares, brow furrowed, head tilted to one side. He chews on the Sharpie cap in his mouth thoughtfully, then makes a mark. “Your go.”

They’re all crammed on one orange vinyl bench at the burger place, Sam between them, who’s periodically nodding off. The doctor gave him codeine, so he’s blissfully unaware of his dad and brother playing tic-tac-toe on his cast while they wait for food. They play to a draw twice and Dad beats him once because he forgot he was X’s. They lapse into silence again, and John’s idly sketching an anti-possession mark on the inside of Sam’s wrist. 

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. He’s keeping his eyes on the cast and Dean’s picking at his fingernails again. 

“For what?” Dean mumbles, trying to bite off a torn cuticle. 

“For putting you in this position,” John glances up and catches his son’s eye for a second, “You should be out there, screwing around and getting in trouble, not making sure your brother and I eat our veggies and brush our teeth.”

He shrugs, rips off the rest of the cuticle and watches a bead of blood well up in its place. “You got shit to do - somebody’s gotta take care of Sammy.” 

“Who’s taking care of you, Dean?” The question hangs in the air between them. They both know the answer. Dean watches the kitchen door, gnaws on a splitting fingernail.  _ Where the fuck is my cheeseburger? _ Several minutes drag by until John nudges him in the shoulder.

“Hey, you keep eating your hands like that you’re not gonna be hungry,” he smiles, tries to break the mood. Dean drops his hands into his lap and looks up. John’s doodling what looks like a dinosaur with a horse's tail on Sam’s cast. “Your brother likes unicorns, right?” 

 

\----------

 

There’s another package from Bobby waiting for them when they get home. Dean tucks his poor drug-addled baby brother into bed and helps him open his present. It’s a new Sandman comic and he promises they can read it together later. 

Dad’s sorting through the package in the kitchen. Stacks of what look like medical records and police reports cover the table. The coffee pot is burbling to life on the counter. He sits down and snakes a police report from the top of one stack. 

_ August 14, 1985 - Unattended child, Forest Pines Shopping Center. Witness reports child sitting alone since 1pm. Says his name is Oliver Frost, 3 years old. Doesn’t know parents’ names, or how he got there. No missing persons reports matching his description. Witness reports child asked her “was it sad?” - witness had recently returned from out of state funeral services for her mother.  _

“So, what is all this?” Dean gets up and fixes two cups of coffee for them. Dad’s still reading another report - it takes him a minute to look up. 

“Missing kids,” he sets the report on another stack, picks up the next one, “you don’t have to do this, you know.” 

“Eh, it’s what we do,” he shrugs and sets one cup in front of his dad. “So, what’s the deal?” 

“Half a dozen foster kids get dropped at this hospital and just fall off the face of the earth. Bobby seems to think this guy has something to do with it.” John pushes the original envelope across the table. “So far, according to these, two are already dead.” 

Dean flips through the original file. “Really? He’s going with evil Nazi doctor on this?” 

“Yes. If you’re gonna help, I’m trying to figure out the timeline on each of these kids,” He’s made a handwritten list with six names, two with X’s next to them. There’s one stack for each kid. “But if you’re gonna be a pain in the ass, at least be funny.” 

They dig in, eventually covering the table and half the floor with reports and records, shuffling to get them in order and make some sense of all of it. Dean’s on the floor with intake paperwork from Sunny Acres on all six kids. He hands one up to his dad. 

“Hey, this is the new one - July 1992 - looks like it goes with that fire marshall’s report,” John looks it over. 

“Lucio,” he mumbles, scanning the pages in his other hand, “OK, it’s here - house fire, single survivor. Maylee Lucio, 4.”

“Does it say how it started?” Dean’s reading the intake sheet, forehead wrinkling in concentration. 

“They couldn't find a cause, not even a single ignition point. Notes here say it looks like the fire started in several rooms at once. Why?” 

“Because it says here she told hospital staff that she started it.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you that have stuck with me thus far, thank you. Buckle up, the next few chapters might be tough. 
> 
> There's a ways yet to go and I hope you are enjoying the ride.


	4. July 1992

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She still has yet to receive a plausible reason why security is so heavy down here. Sheffield says it’s to keep people out, but Elise is starting to see it’s much more the other way around.

Peter’s just out from surgery again. Elise sits with him until he comes around, tracing small circles on the back of his hand and singing the song she learned from Mr. Green. She’s tired and her shift should have ended hours ago, but her kids still need her. The clock says one thirty, but it feels later. She wonders if Oliver’s been messing with the clock when he gets bored. On the other side, Oliver sleeps fitfully. He hasn’t thrown up in almost an hour. His hair has already started to grow back and she can barely see the long line across his scalp from the tumor removal. 

Casey’s bed across the room stands empty for the third night in a row. Every time she looks over at it, she feels cold inside. Sheffield insisted that Casey had been released back to her birth parents - parents Casey never, ever mentioned since Elise started a few months ago. The last few days before Elise came in to an empty bed, Casey had been under heavy sedation. She has no access to her own patients’ records, so she only has Sheffield’s word to go on that somehow it pertained to her condition. 

Deep down, she doesn’t believe it. 

The intercom on the wall crackles to life. “Miss Bell, we need you upstairs in admissions.” 

She replaces Peter’s hand on the edge of his bed and he stirs, blinking up at her. “Going so soon?” 

“I’ll be back - you just rest, sweetie,” she reaches across him and pulls up the blanket. She notices the twisted pink scar across his left arm, one that wasn’t there yesterday. He catches her staring and says, “You didn’t miss it, it’s new.” 

She flicks her eyes down one last time and gives Peter what she hopes is a convincingly reassuring smile. She’s just not feeling it today for some reason. She lets herself out of the room and uses her pass card for the two sets of steel doors between her and the stairwell. She still has yet to receive a plausible reason why security is so heavy down here. Sheffield says it’s to keep people out, but Elise is starting to see it’s much more the other way around. 

The admissions nurse sees Elise coming and wearily holds up a folder. “One of yours in the waiting room,” she mumbles. Elise pushes the door, opening the file at the same time. She skims for the basics.  _ Lucio, Maylee. Age 4. Sole survivor, house fire. Cincinnati Fire & Rescue. Admitting physician, Dr. Amanda Sheffield.  _

She looks around the room and it’s empty. She starts back through the door, going to double check with admissions, and stops at a small noise. A tiny cough comes from under the table in the corner. She slides across the room quietly and squats down. “Hi.” 

The little girl under the table has tucked herself in the far corner, just out of arm’s reach. Folded up like this, Elise would swear she was no more than two. Her dark hair is tangled and she can still see bits of ash and debris in it. Her formerly pale blue pajamas are dirty and she smells like a fireplace. Her green eyes shine with the tears she refuses to let go. Elise settles, tucking her legs alongside her, and pulls a pen out of her pocket. She flips the folder over and writes her name carefully in big block letters, saying each one aloud as she writes. She clips the pen to the folder and pushes it along the floor, halfway between them. “Elise. That’s my name.”

The girl’s mouth works slowly as she repeats the letters, sounding it out for herself. She fumbles with the pen for a minute, dropping the cap on the floor, and starts to print just below where Elise wrote her name. She glances up every few seconds, making sure Elise hasn’t left or gotten any closer. Finally, she drops the pen and pushes the folder back. 

 

_ MAYLEE. _

 

“Hi, Maylee,” Elise tilts her head down at her and smiles. “Do you know why you’re here?” 

She nods once, wipes her pajama sleeve across her face, smearing snot and ash across her cheek all over again. Elise reaches up to the table and grabs a tissue box. She pushes it under the table, into the halfway space. Maylee snatches it up quickly, tries to clean her face off with a handful of half-torn tissues. 

“Would you like to come get a bath, Maylee? Some clean clothes?” Elise doesn’t move, doesn’t reach for her. Maylee stares at the tissues in her hand for a minute or two. Elise picks up the file, starts to read the intake again.  _ She’ll come around. _ A little hand starts tugging at her pants and she closes the folder. Maylee scrambles into her lap, burying her face in Elise’s shirt. There’s a hiccup and a squeak and a warm puddle starts to spread across her chest. She just wraps her arms around the little girl and lets her go, smoothing back her hair and humming a low, meandering tune. 

When Maylee hitches one last time and pulls in her first slow, shaky breath, Elise slides one arm under her knees and the other under her back. Maylee pulls herself closer, skinny little arms tight around Elise’s neck. She doesn’t open her eyes again until Elise is pushing on the door to the basement room and making her way through the half-light to the bathroom. She smiles weakly at Peter, who’s sitting up reading when she returns. 

“Who’s that?” he sets his book aside. She waves him off and flips the bathroom light on, knowing he’ll be up in a matter of minutes to help. She sets Maylee on the floor and starts to fill the tub. She wets a washcloth in the warming water and settles in front of the little girl again. 

“Look up, honey. Let me see your face,” Elise holds Maylee’s chin steady and starts to clear away the dirt. She’s got a small scratch under her eye but it doesn’t look very deep. Maylee’s finally letting herself look around the small room, eyes flitting between Elise and the flat, cream-colored walls and the door behind them. She yields easily in Elise’s hands, scrunches up her face when she starts to wash the girl’s hair. 

“It’s OK, honey. It’s baby shampoo. It won’t sting,” Elise laughs as Maylee pops one eyelid, then relaxes a little. The soap smells sweet and she picks up a little song, which finally elicits a tiny smile from Maylee. The girl’s eyelids flutter while Elise wraps her in a towel and she slumps into her arms sitting on the floor of the bathroom, practically asleep. She pats the girl’s hair dry and a single thought twists in her gut.  _ She’s going into Casey’s bed. She’s one of your kids now.  _

Things never seem to go too well for her kids. She smooths back Maylee’s hair and stares at her, searching her round face for a clue. She can’t begin to imagine what they would want with her. 

“Need a hand?” She snaps her head up at the noise and pulls Maylee closer. She loosens her grip when she sees Peter leaning in the doorway holding a plastic-wrapped packet. Elise reaches up and takes it. Same gray sweats all the kids wear, just smaller.  _ Maybe it’s not too late - I could just take her back up, say there’s been a mistake.  _ But there’s never a mistake, these kids are marked before they ever set foot in the hospital. 

“Can you -” she falters, has to remind herself to breathe again, “can you make sure Casey’s bed is ready? Maybe get an extra blanket out of the closet.” 

It’s the first time anyone’s said her name out loud in three days. Peter pushes off without a word to do as she asked. Elise nudges Maylee awake again so she can dress her, and picks her up again when they’re done. She mashes her face into Elise’s shoulder until she’s just about laying on the bed, then unlocks her arms from around her neck and tumbles into the pillows. Peter’s on the other side of the bed and helps May burrow under the blankets. She pokes her head out from under the covers and reaches out for Elise’s hand, pulling until she’s sitting on the bed, too. She coughs and squeaks out two words. Her voice is hoarse and thready. “Don’t go.” 

Peter sits on the edge of the bed across from Elise and picks up Maylee’s other hand. “Hey, what’s your name, princess?” 

She’s already drifting off, so Elise answers for her. “Maylee. She was in a house fire.” 

“So, why is she - y’know -  _ here? _ ” Peter whispers once May has nodded off. 

“I don't know. One of Sheffield's finds,” she shrugs in the dark, still tracing little circles on the back of the girl's hand. They sit for a long time with nothing to say, just watching Maylee shift and occasionally whimper in her sleep. Elise sets her hand back down and smooths the blanket around her tiny body. She speaks absently, the weight of the day settling in her spine. “I gotta go.”

“See you tomorrow?” Peter doesn’t get up right away - she knows he’s going to sit up all night with the new arrival, no matter how crusty it makes him feel.  _ How many people have passed through this place in his time?  _ She shakes off the thought and stretches. 

“Yeah, I’ll be here,” she grabs her sweater off the other chair and starts for the door. She’s not scheduled for tomorrow. She stops one last time, casting her gaze over the room. “Just - make sure everyone’s still here when I get back.” 

 

\----------

 

Elise drops her dirty scrubs on the floor and wriggles into an oversize t-shirt. Kate’s asleep, sprawled across the bed on her stomach, sheet twisted around her legs. She’s got on red plaid boxers - probably stolen from Brian’s laundry - and nothing else. A thin scar, stretched white and shiny with time, traces from just above her hipbone until it disappears into the waistband of her shorts. She’s seen the x-rays - Kate fell from a treehouse when she was 13 and still has a plate and seven screws from a broken hip. Elise nudges her over and slides into bed, running one hand down Kate’s side and over the raised line of flesh. She’s sleep-warm and so very soft. She stirs long enough to burble contentedly and snuggle into Elise, pulling her arm around her. Elise nuzzles into the back of Kate’s neck and breathes her in, dragging her thoughts back from work and into the moment. Worry still bites at the back of her mind, as it has been since she started putting the pieces together. She stretches out and presses closer alongside Kate’s body. 

“Missed you,” Kate mumbles into the pillow. “How are your babies?” 

“They’re fine, baby. Go back to sleep,” Elise says quietly, running her hand over Kate’s shoulder again. 

She’s still awake an hour later and rolls onto her back. Kate snuffles but doesn’t wake up. Lights from the street play across the ceiling and her mind starts up again.  _ What in the world could they want with that poor little girl? _ It won’t be long until she’s up again, heading back into that place. She lays out what she knows in her head. She’s stolen a peek at records from time to time, but none of it seemed to make any sense. 

Peter’s been there for a decade. He remembers coming to the hospital but not why. He doesn’t remember if he has a family. 

Oliver was abandoned in a mall when he was three, but didn’t come into the hospital until two years ago, after getting bounced out of three foster homes. He remembers everything.

Peter says Casey was only there six months. Runaway.

She’s supposed to be working for this doctor - Hessmeyer - but she’s never actually seen him. She spends most of her time dealing with Dr. Sheffield, who even Kate describes as “shady as fuck”. She’s one of three nurses, and only ever sees either of them at shift changes, if even then. Most times there’s a rather wide gap between their shifts. Elise tries to bridge the gaps, hates leaving the kids alone. 

Oliver is unsettling at best. He has a brain tumor that keeps coming back. Peter says he’s had four surgeries to remove it, but it always returns. Oliver says it’s  _ mostly harmless _ . He carries way more anger than a ten year old should and spits it at anyone who gets too close. If Elise didn’t have this unnatural knack for getting people to chill out, he’d have thrown his rage at her, too. When she first started, the nurse that works the shift before her warned that Oliver was a biter. Elise never seems to have a problem with that. Even so, he curses up a storm at any opportunity, including in her presence. 

She doesn’t much care for being alone with him and learned within a few days not to look him in the eye - that’s when the weird shit starts happening. As a rule, Elise doesn’t discuss her home life at work. There are still a lot of people that wouldn’t hesitate to fire her just because she goes home to Kate. The first time she sat with Oliver alone in a recovery room, he stared straight into her and grinned.  _ “Does Kate know what you’re doing here?”  _

Peter is the flip side of Oliver. He’s sweet and quiet to a fault. There’s an edge to his constant compliance, though. He’s barely fifteen and when she looks at him, she sees the same look she saw in her terminal patients back at the home. He’s too tired to fight, knows it’s useless. Every time she sees that look darken his face, it renews her resolve to find out - to find a way out. Something’s happening, and it’s not going to stop until it’s ripped those kids to shreds, eaten them alive. 

Late one night, Peter told her about Jerome, how he came and went, almost seamlessly replaced by Oliver before he knew what was going on. Jerome made music out of thin air - he couldn’t say quite how - only that in the days before he disappeared, the music became discordant, panicked in a way that neither boy knew how to verbalize. 

Oliver told her about Becky. He’d liked Becky - she read to him just about every day. Comics, sci-fi, history books - whatever they could convince a nurse to sneak in. She didn’t last long in the ward. He said Becky just seemed to wither away, until she, too, disappeared. 

Kate sniffles a little and squirms back to Elise’s side, yanks the sheet back over her shoulder. She wraps one arm around her and kisses the top of her head. She tries to picture Casey and even though it’s only been a few days, she has a hard time. _ Was it brown hair - blond, maybe?  _ She squints as if she could draw a picture on the ceiling if she could just focus. She remembers the shape of Casey’s eyes, trips over the color. It was Casey that first tripped her suspicion. 

Casey could move things with her mind. She couldn’t always control it. 

Elise shivers in the dark and pulls Kate closer. Already, the sky is lightening just enough to remind her she’s got to be up again in a few hours. She shuts her eyes and forces a deep breath. 

 

_ Blue. Her eyes were blue.  _

 

\----------

 

Kate shifts against Elise, surfacing long enough to stretch one arm across her waist and squeeze. Then she’s back under. 

She’s thirteen and only a few days past her hip surgery. Mom and Brian have gone home for the night. She can’t wait until she’s well enough to go with them. She’s not a huge fan of hospitals, this one especially. Everyone’s nice enough to her, just something about this place doesn’t feel right. 

Brian apologized again today for building the stupid treehouse in the first place. 

Sometime in the night, she unconsciously tries to roll on her side and startles, pain searing a path down her leg. Tears well up in her eyes again and a high-pitched whine starts in the back of her throat before she’s even fully awake. She’s pawing for the call button when she feels a small, cold hand on her foot. A little blond-haired boy in gray pajamas, maybe a few years younger than her, is at the foot of her bed, pressing a finger to his lips. Kate drops the call button and stares at him. 

“How did you get in here?” she whispers. He eyes the hallway, making sure it’s completely empty, then responds. 

“Did you hurt your leg?” 

“Yeah. It hurts all the time,” she shifts in the bed and gasps again when the movement sends another bolt of lightning down her leg. He slides up the side of her bed, resting his hands on her thigh. She jerks back a little, but he holds her leg still and smiles. His hands are warm, getting warmer. The burning ache in her leg starts to fade, draining away under the kid’s touch, until nothing remains. He smiles at her again, pulling the blanket neatly back over her leg. He doesn’t give her time to respond. Kate just stares after him as he limps out of the room.

Somewhere in the dim recesses of her mind, pieces are floating together. In her dream, she’s watching this odd little kid shamble down the hall, and her eyes trip across the sign on the back of her door. 

 

_ Something about Sunny Acres. Hey - isn’t that where Elise is working now? Weird, huh?  _

 

She makes a mental note to say something in the morning. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spending more time with my characters because reasons. You get a new chapter. Everybody wins!


	5. June 1993

All the blood is running to his head and his eyeballs are throbbing a little bit. Any minute now, Dean’s gonna pass by and give him shit for hanging upside down off the side of the couch but he doesn’t really care. It’s all Dean’s fault he’s bored and stuck inside, anyway. He wasn’t where he said he’d be and now they’re both confined indoors whenever Dad goes to work. 

OK, maybe it’s a little bit Sam’s fault too. He didn’t  _ have  _ to tell on his brother - it just sort of slipped out. He  _ might have _ made one little offhand comment and Dad got all “Somethin’ you wanna tell me, son?” on him. 

Sam cracks easily under pressure. 

He stares across the room at the calendar on the opposite wall. It’s partway full of big red X’s and six days away from the square containing the only two words Sam cares about right now - CAST OFF. His arm is constantly itchy, putting off a faintly unsavory smell, and he might have accidentally lost a gummy bear in there. Next Tuesday can’t come soon enough. He reaches out for the stack of books a few inches away, swiping out for the top one. He misses a few times and succeeds in knocking over the stack. 

“Hey, your face is turning purple. Might want to sit up.” Dean shuffles across the room and plops down on the couch next to him. He dangles a can of grape soda briefly in front of Sam’s face. Sam rolls off the couch and lays on the floor for a minute, lets the dizziness pass before he sits up and grabs the can. Dean laughs at him, ruffling his hair. Sam scrunches up his face and ducks away. 

“Knock it off, I’m not a baby,” he grumbles, using his book as cover. Secretly, he kind of digs it when it’s just him and his brother. Whenever Dad’s around, Dean’s all about The Hunt and Sam just kind of fades into the background. He disappears into a book or, when he’s allowed to, hides in the nearest library. Since they came to Greensburg, though, there hasn’t been a hunt for Dean to obsess over, so they’ve been hanging out a lot more. Sam knows they’re just waiting, collecting information - Dean’s still all hung up on The Research when Dad comes home - but he’s trying to make himself a little less invisible. He’s been sneaking peeks at the stacks of folders and photocopied papers from Bobby, committing details to memory. He’s been getting in the good graces of the one librarian who guards the small bank of computers, and she turns a blind eye when he runs over his allotted fifteen minutes, fervently looking up every scrap of information he can find on Dad and Dean’s case. She helps, too, but acts like she doesn’t know anything when police reports and hospital records just appear next to him when he sits down. They talk about Piers Anthony and she introduces him to Neal Stephenson. She’s cool. 

When he gets home, he leaves little notes and printouts in the files, pointing out helpful bits they didn’t see before. 

Sometimes he lifts a couple of sheets and reads them as he's falling asleep. It's weird but not entirely unexpected when some connections come as he sleeps. Sam rarely remembers his dreams - the ones that do stick around until morning tend to be pretty informative. It still freaks him out from time to time. 

He’s become the Information Fairy. 

Dad’s been working nights the last couple of weeks. As luck would have it, he managed to pick up work as a maintenance guy at Sunny Acres, the very same hospital they’d been sent to keep an eye on. From what Sam picks up in passing, he finally got assigned to the restricted ward. Had to sign a ton of paperwork before they would give him a key, and he still hasn’t seen the kids yet. He’s got in good with one of the nurses, though, and she’s starting to tell him some of the stuff that happens behind closed doors. Dad won’t say anything in front of him, but it’s got to be pretty bad. Just yesterday, he got that weird look in his eye watching Sam and just gave him a great big hug out of nowhere. 

They’re poking around in the kitchen, throwing out ideas for dinner, when Dad calls for the first time that night. Dean grabs the phone while he's taking down a couple of plates and Sam stays by the fridge, pretending to look for milk. He's all but holding his breath trying to hear every bit of the conversation. 

“Hey, dad. -- yeah, we're making dinner.” Dean tucks the phone into his shoulder and pulls out a pot for spaghetti. Sam peeks over the top of the door and his brother is rolling his eyes a little while he sets water to boil. 

“Spaghetti. -- yeah,  _ just _ spaghetti. -- but there's tomatoes in the -- fine, I'll make a salad.” He makes a face and rummages in a cabinet for noodles. The cord barely reaches but he manages to tip a box off the high shelf. Sam giggles. That salad isn't going to happen. 

“Yeah, dad, he's -- uhm, really? -- Got it. -- yessir. I understand.” Dean stops in the middle of the kitchen and the smile evaporates. The air in the room goes all heavy for a second and he gives the older boy a look. He shakes his head, still listening, winding and unwinding the cord around his fingers. 

“Yes, sir. -- I can do that. -- you want us to save you some? -- sure thing. Night.” Dean drops the phone back on the cradle. He continues getting dinner ready, doesn’t say a thing about the whole conversation. The suspense is just killing him. He grabs a juice box and shuts the fridge. 

“So?” Sam perches on the edge of the kitchen table, looking expectantly at his brother. 

“So, what?”  _ Fine. Play dumb.  _ He resists the urge to poke Dean in the side. 

“So, what did Dad have to say?” 

“Nothin’,” Dean shakes out a handful of noodles and breaks them over the boiling water. He won’t even turn around. 

“Didn’t sound like nothin’.” 

“Well, it was, so you can knock it off,” he finally turns away from the stove and flicks a little piece of dry pasta at Sam. “And Dad says not to wait up for him. You need to be in bed by 11.”

Some juice goes down the wrong way and he sputters. “Nuh-uh.”

Dean tilts a look at him that says he’s not in the mood to argue. Sam kicks his feet and glowers at the floor. “It‘s not fair. You guys pushing me around like a baby all the time. It sucks.” 

“Hey, he’s sending me upstairs, too. Doesn’t want me around when that nurse shows up,” he dumps a jar of sauce in another pan and drops it on the burner. 

“Really? You think he’s -”

“No, stupid.  _ That nurse.  _ The one with all the freaky kids. I know you’ve been stealing files, so don’t play like you don’t know.” 

“Oh.” He goes back to watching his sneakers. Dean pokes him in the side and smiles as he passes by. 

“Thanks for the help,” he ducks into the fridge and grabs one of Dad’s beers. It’s funny to watch the two of them - Dean pretending he has no idea how things keep disappearing and Dad pretending they weren’t missing in the first place. “Where are you getting all this stuff anyway?” 

Sam shrugs and grins back. “Library.” 

“Really, no shit?” 

“No shit.”


	6. A Way Out

Elise wraps her fingers around the warm mug. It’s the middle of summer but the mere thought of what they’re going to do sets a chill on her soul. 

John leans forward, turns his coffee cup in his hands. He speaks without looking up. “So, when do they ever leave the hospital?” 

“Never,” Elise shakes her head. “Everything they could possibly need is taken care of on site. As it is, I can barely get them off the locked ward.”

“But you  _ do _ , right? You take them upstairs? Outside?” He’s grasping at a slim chance, she knows. Everything he comes up with, every time he thinks he’s got a way in, she’s quick to shoot him down, but it’s not for lack of hope. She just know that any plan, any attempt to rescue her kids,  _ has _ to be bulletproof. They will not get a second chance. 

Elise waves him off, sets her coffee down. “Not without Sheffield. She watches them like a hawk every second we’re off-ward.” 

“She ever go on vacation?” John raises an eyebrow, but Elise just laughs. 

“Like she’s ever let that happen. She plans everything just so. The only way we’d move the kids without her there would be -” she stops suddenly and her eyes go wide. She stands up, starts to pace the length of the living room. Her hands flutter to her face, rolling the end of one of her twists between her thumb and finger. Kate laughs at her whenever she fiddles with her hair, but it keeps her calm when her mind starts to churn.

“Ok, you gonna share with the class?” he’s sitting back now, watching Elise work through this. 

“You know there's always been a water problem in that back hallway. I bet if it was bad enough they'd have to at least move everyone upstairs. Our chances are a little better on one of the other wards. None of them have the same security.” 

“I could work something out.” he jingles the heavy keyring at his side. “Pipes break all the time.”

“So, what next?” Elise stops in the middle of the room. They stare at each other, trading the same lost expression. “How do we get them out without an entire building noticing?”

At the top of the stairs, there is a series of fierce whispers and a thump against the wall. Elise glances up and sees two sets of feet on the very top step, just at the edge of the ceiling. The smaller feet are covered in striped green socks. She holds up a hand. John looks back, too, and calls up the steps. 

“I seem to recall sending certain people to bed much earlier,” he says sternly. Elise smiles when the bigger foot shoves the smaller one, followed by another round of hushed argument. She catches John cracking a smile in spite of himself. 

“Those your boys?” She heads to the stairs and looks up. The younger one is all pj’s and wild hair, big brown eyes taking up half his face. He’s picking threads off the edge of the cast on his arm and doesn’t take his eyes off Elise once. The older one jumps up the second Elise hits the bottom step and puts himself between her and the little one, like a reflex. He still has that round baby face, a swath of freckles right across his nose, but the look in his eye - a little mad, a little scared, and a whole lotta distrust - reminds her of Oliver. “Hi, guys.”   

“Go on, back to your room. You don’t need to be a part of this,” John stands behind Elise, arms folded across his chest. 

“We can help. We got something,” the older one steps aside, lets his little brother by, “ain’t that right, Sammy?” 

“No. I already told you, you’re staying out of this one. I don’t want you anywhere near that place, Dean,” he points up the stairs. Neither boy moves. 

“You don’t have to be upstairs to get out,” Sam continues worrying the frayed edge of his cast, talks to the floor mostly. “Just the other side of the building.”

“Fine. Make your case.” 

“There’s a second building on the property, right?” He comes down two more steps. 

Elise nods. “Yeah, I’ve seen it. Used to be for storage, they stopped using it when the roof caved in.” 

“And there’s an empty room on the other side of the building, maybe a supply closet or something?” Sam glances up, waiting for her response. One step down. 

“Yeah, there is,” she nods and starts to smile a little. She knows the room. Too big for a closet, really, and there’s another door at the back of the room nobody ever talks about. 

“That door at the back is an underground tunnel.” He looks right up at Elise and gives a nervous smile. 

Elise bends down and plants a huge, wet kiss on his cheek. 

  
  
  
  
  



	7. One Week Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things at the hospital are going to come crashing down and Elise lays out the plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me so far. I'd guess we're about a third of the way through. I would super love to hear what people think.

For once, Oliver has no bitchy comeback. Curled around Maylee, the book he’d been reading to her lies forgotten. HIs hand hovers midway up her back. His chest is tight and heavy and it’s not just May’s head resting against him. All he can do is stare back at Elise. 

She thinks they can pull this off. He almost thinks he can trust her.

Hell if Peter isn’t there to piss in his Cheerios though. 

“No, Elise. I can’t let you do this. What if something goes wrong? You think everybody’s just gonna be cool that we tried to break out?” He’s pacing up and down the tiny room. 

“Look, I understand the risk. And that’s why we need to do this,” Elise remains seated at the foot of May’s bed, legs tucked under her. Peter’s been wearing a groove in the middle of the floor ever since Elise said the word  _ escape _ . He’s tired of listening to the two of them. He lays a hand over May’s ear, as if it’s going to make a difference when he really gets going. He doesn’t even know why he suddenly cares about his vocabulary in front of Maylee - it hits him like an instinct, a level below conscious thought.

“We’re fucked either way, Peter. Completely and utterly. So fucked it’s not funny.” Oliver finally manages to suck in a deep breath around the thickening air between them. “We’re all going to die, anyway. Why not shoot for the one slim chance we have?”  

Lifetimes could have passed in the amount of time Peter takes to process. He’s right - they are screwed no matter what. People are starting to ask questions, Sheffield’s met with a string of child services representatives in the last few weeks. A low hum of panic has taken over the basement ward. The other two nurses were fired just a few days ago and Elise hasn’t been allowed to go home since. All treatments have stopped, records are shredded by the boxload. Oliver’s no dummy, he knows what comes next. 

“Fine. We’ll do it.” Peter collapses into the chair. He keeps his eyes locked on the floor. 

Elise is staring at Maylee, fast asleep and oblivious of the conversation taking place just over her head. If there’s even the remotest chance, the tiniest pinpoint of light in all this, they’re all willing to try - just for her.  _ For fuck’s sake, she’s just a little kid. Maybe I deserve this bullshit, but not May.  _

Maylee whimpers and burrows closer to Oliver. He resumes rubbing a long stripe down the middle of her back. It seems to help and she stills again. 

“So, how the hell do we break out?” Elise pulls a folded sheaf of notebook papers out of her pocket and smooths them out on her leg. Oliver catches sight of a couple of drawings and almost two full pages of solid notes. Some of the handwriting looks like Elise’s, round and evenly spaced. The rest is wobbly block-printing, a kid’s writing.  _ What the shit, Elise? Did you find this on the back of a cereal box? _ Elise glances up at him very quickly and he wonders if maybe that wasn’t entirely in his head. 

“I got some help,” she lays out the sheets, balancing the drawing on sleeping May’s leg. Peter pulls his chair in closer and squints at the floor plan. “The supply closet down that way - “

“The one right next to Dr. Hessmeyer’s office? You gotta be kiddin’ me, Leesy.” Peter drags a hand over his face and tries to refocus on the paper. Elise sighs and pushes some notes under his nose. Oliver sits up and grabs the other sheet, covered mostly in Elise’s notes. 

“There’s a tunnel right out of here in that room,” she points out. “Used to be for deliveries, but the outbuilding’s been locked for years. I don’t think anyone even remembers it.” 

“You’re already working on this. How much is done already?” 

“The room’s almost clear on this end. I’ve got someone working on the tunnel from the outbuilding. We’ve got three, maybe four more days of work left.  Sheffield takes off Thursdays, so we’re going to move then. We flood the hallway, right outside Hessmeyer’s office, and get you all to that room.” Elise traces a path across the drawing with her finger. “Once you’re out, I’m bringing this place down. Kate’s helping. I’ve been pulling whatever files I can get my hands on before they get shredded.” 

Oliver catches her eye and she lets him. She’s rehearsing the plan in her head over and over, and every time it ends in horror. She’s terrified. Oliver drops his eyes first. He hugs May tighter. “Whatd’ya need from us?” 

“I just need you guys to hold on another week.” 

Elise busies herself with helping them all get ready for bed. It’s nearly nine and Oliver slides May onto her pillow, trying not to wake her. He shuffles across the room and lays on his own bed, brain spinning too much to bother with getting under the blankets. 

At nine-fifteen, Sheffield stands outside the door, arms crossed and lips drawn in a tight line while Elise uses the phone to call home yet another night. Peter is trying to look asleep but Oliver sees his hand shaking in the low light. He doesn’t bother trying to put on a show for that evil bitch - every time she turns his way, he gives her the finger. He’s just joyful at the way she consciously avoids looking directly at him. By the time Elise slides past her into the room again, he’s proud of the rising color in Sheffield’s cheeks and the way she’s flattened her mouth nearly out of existence. She looks like an angry Muppet and storms off the second Elise steps into the room. 

_ Good. Fuck her. _ “Hey,” Oliver kicks his legs over the edge of the bed and stands up, “take my bed, Leesy.” 

She looks exhausted and doesn’t bother arguing with him, shoving blankets aside and collapsing in a heap, shoes still on, dangling over the edge. He shuffles to the chair and pulls it alongside Maylee’s bed. He scoops up the notes from the table and starts to read. Eventually, Peter’s breathing slows and evens, nearly matching in rate with Elise. 

The buzzing in his head rises to a keen. He keeps reading, gets out more paper and sketches cleaner maps. Flitting between the existing notes and his new maps, he tries to work out a better way - a less dangerous way - but whoever set this up really thought out all the angles. He leans back in the chair and just takes a minute to be impressed  _Shit, wherever she got this - kid is scary smart._

_ Anything to help Elise, anything just to get May out.  _ He glances up at the little girl and two tiny green eyes glitter back at him, wide and wild. 

_ Olly, I’m scared. Are we gonna go? Are we gonna get hurt? _

He sets the papers aside and leans in close, resting his forehead against hers. She snakes her hands from under the covers to touch his face and he smiles, closes his eyes for a second. “No, baby. You’re gonna be just fine. And in another week, you get a whole new life.”

She pushes his face a little further away and squints, focusing on his eyes. Her lower lip pushes out and starts to wobble but she holds him in place. She keeps staring.  _ What about you? Is Peter coming, too? And Leesy?  _

“We’re gonna try, baby. We’re all gonna try.” 


	8. Nothing Good Ever Happens after Midnight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been thinking about this and thinking about all my kiddies, so have a new chapter. We still have a long way to go and it's likely to get worse before it gets better.

In the end it’s wasn’t Sam’s well-researched maps and notes or Elise’s careful planning or even Oliver’s last desperate attempts to find a better way that got them out. It was a scared little girl and the thought someone might be trying to hurt her friend. 

Maylee set fire to the place two days before they planned to escape. 

 

***

 

“Who is this?” John scrubs his hands over his face and waits for the response. He’s standing in the kitchen, half-dressed on his way to grab the phone. There’s really only one person that has his home number, but the voice on the line does not belong to Elise.   

“I know this is weird, but Elise - she gave me this number and told me to call. She said you’d know what to do.” 

“About what?” he squints across the kitchen at bright blue numbers on the microwave display. Certainty settles like a brick in his gut.  _ Nothing good ever happens after midnight.  _

Two-thirty.  _ Fuck.  _

“John, this is Kate and Elise hasn’t been home all week. She was calling every night for a few days and then -” he can hear Kate’s voice tremble. The girl sounds like she’s got the barest grip on calm. “She said to call you right away if I didn’t hear from her. She said she’d call, every night - Elise was supposed to - I don’t even know what you’re -  ” 

“Hey - hey, slow down. Elise was right, you did good to call me,” he speaks slowly into the flood of words and hitching breaths, cradling the phone as he paws around the kitchen table for his keys.

This is not the way the plan is supposed to play out. They were supposed to have - what, two? Three more days? He’d planned on having Bobby there as backup -  _ hell, he ain’t even on the road yet _ \- and now he’s got to make the run alone, with half the weapons he actually needs and no idea what he’s walking into. Now, this girl’s on the phone, freaking out on him because her roommate’s gone missing. 

_ We really needed those two days, dammit.  _

“Kate, do you think you could find your way to my place?” He’s pulling on his shoes and grabs a couple of knives he keeps stashed on top of the fridge. He starts writing a note to the boys on the back of an envelope, keeping an eye on the kitchen doorway and the stairs just past. They need to stay as far from this job as possible. 

“Yeah, I think so - what’s going on, John? Elise isn’t like this, I know she doesn’t want me to worry, but - y’know, I’m gonna worry anyway.” Kate forces a short laugh. 

“I can’t really explain right now, Kate. Just trust me - trust Elise - we’re doin’ a good thing here.” John switches the phone between hands as he shrugs his way into a rumpled, green jacket he swore he only took off a couple of hours ago. 

“I’ll be there soon.” 

He doesn’t have to wait long before Kate’s tapping her fingers against the front door, still in her pajamas, blond hair pulled back hastily from her pink and puffy face. She wipes her sleeve across her face after John lets her in. He wants to sling an arm around her, let her know everything’s going to be OK. 

_ Is it? Is it really going to be OK?  _

He takes a step back, hands her the red blanket off the back of the couch instead. She pulls it up around her shoulders, curling up on the big chair nearest the door. She’s already got her gaze fixed on the door and he’d bet anything she’ll be in the same position when he returns with Elise. 

_ If. If you return with Elise.  _

“Kate,” he glances back to stairs again and scrawls a phone number on the envelope, “if you haven’t heard back by tomorrow around noon, call this number. The boys are sleeping upstairs, tell ‘em I went to get Elise.” 

Kate nods wordlessly, crumples the envelope a little as she takes it from him. She doesn’t really look at him so much as through him, and he hopes - for her sake - that Kate sleeps at least a few minutes at some point. John’s halfway out the door when he hears the one voice he’d been praying would stay the hell in bed all night. 

“Dad, is it time?” Dean’s on the stairs, sneakers untied and half-tumbling toward the door. “Are we going to get them?” 

“ _ We _ aren’t going anywhere.” John continues on, pulling the door shut behind him. Dean catches it and forces himself out through the slim gap. He grabs his dad’s arm before he can reach the sidewalk, and for the first time, John can’t just shrug off the grip. This is not the child he brought to Greensburg four months ago. 

“I’m going with you.” 

“No. This isn’t what we were prepared for - something’s happened up there and until I get things straightened out, you stay put.” 

“Dad, I know these kids, I’ve been reading about them for months. I can help -” 

“I need you here. Look after Sammy.” 

“Dad, come on! They’re just kids -” John finally twists his arm away from Dean’s grasp and takes the last two steps to the sidewalk. 

“So are you.” He doesn’t let himself stop again until he’s balancing on the curb, fishing in his pocket for the keys to unlock the car. There’s a metallic jingle behind him and Dean’s smirking behind the keys looped over his finger. “You’re stayin’ in the car. Set one toe out of it and I’ll shoot it off.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Brain worms and offspring prevent consistent and reliable time to write. Guuuuh.


End file.
